


Cleared for Flight Duty

by dusty_violet



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dusty_violet/pseuds/dusty_violet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traveling in the TARDIS with the Doctor can be a dangerous life, and the thought of harm befalling his companions weighs heavy on his hearts. To ease his mind, the Doctor requests that Clara allow him to examine her, in case he needs to treat her for illness or injuries in the future. But the TARDIS has other plans for the two of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleared for Flight Duty

                She heard the sound of the brakes through her cracked attic window as the familiar blue phone box materialized in the Maitlands’ driveway that Wednesday afternoon. The corners of her mouth quirked up into a slow grin before she snatched her little red satchel by the strap and bounded down the stairs and out the front door to the waiting TARDIS.

                “Doctor!” she exclaimed, knuckles rapping eagerly on the wooden door.

                It swung open a moment later, the face of its eleventh inhabitant beaming at her from roughly a foot above her own. “Clara!” he greeted in return. His right hand reached out to cup her cheek affectionately, before it slid past her elegant neck to her shoulder, where it pulled her into an embrace which she returned, both arms around his slender torso.

                They broke apart and the Doctor stepped aside so his companion could saunter inside. She approached the console and spun around to face him. “How does she feel about me today?” she asked.

                “Oh – Sexy?” he replied, and Clara nodded. “She’s well enough, I suppose…” His hands stroked the console’s various buttons and levers like he was petting a pedigreed Persian cat. “These things take time, Clara.”

                “We’ve got a time machine, Doctor. We have all the time in the world,” she pointed out.

                “In the universe, actually,” he corrected. “And all the time in an infinite number of parallel universes, too.”

                Clara rolled her eyes – she’d heard the timey-wimey talk many times before. His enthusiasm for the subject never diminished, no matter how old he claimed to have grown. “Alright then, Sexy, where to this time?” she asked the TARDIS aloud, not expecting an answer. Sane humans didn’t exactly converse with sentient appliances on a frequent basis.

                “Actually, Clara, before we set out, there’s something I’ve been meaning to do,” the Doctor said. His companion raised an eyebrow. “Before we invariably find ourselves in another dangerous situation, I’d like for the TARDIS to download your biometrics for diagnostic purposes.” He paused. “A medical exam. With your consent, of course.”

                “But you’re not _really_ a doctor, you know,” Clara reminded him. “You’ve got a doctorate in cheesemaking!”

                “I’ve got a doctorate in everything!” he retorted in mock offense. “Besides, the medical bay is fully automated. You would only need to sit there with a few sensors attached long enough for the old girl to take some baseline measurements.” His companion’s expression remained skeptical. He grasped her hand in one of his. “Please, Clara, do this for me.”

                She searched his eyes and found them full of the desire to protect her, to keep her safe. She’d seen it in him before, that night he camped out below her window after rescuing her from the Spoonheads. Her face softened as she decided to acquiesce. This ancient man had been through so much; the least she could do was to give him some peace of mind. “Alright,” she agreed finally.

                He squeezed her hand in gratitude and led her down the corridor to the right, two doors down on the left. Automatic sliding doors parted as they entered a white room, so sterile it gleamed in the ship’s soft glow. Supply cabinets with glass doors lined the high walls and framed a low stainless steel examination table in the center of the room. The Doctor opened a drawer, pulling out a thick cotton cover and draping it over the table. He followed it with a small pillow at one end, where Clara expected her head was to go. Finally, he handed her a loose-fitting cotton gown, which she eyed distastefully.

                “Is this really necessary?” she sighed.

                “You’ll be more comfortable in this,” he encouraged. What he really meant – she thought – was _he’d_ be more comfortable if she changed into the garment.  “Much easier to work around, to attach the sensors…” he rambled, his trail dying off when she finally plucked the gown from his outstretched hand.

                She gave him a look. “Out you go, then!” she ordered, her hands shooing him from the room.

                His face took on a subtle flush. “Yes, of course,” he replied, backing away hastily into the still-opened drawer, which made him jump. “I’ll just be… give a shout when you’re ready!” he called, already out of sight in the corridor.

                “Doctor?” she called. He peeked his head back in. “Is it alright if I keep my knickers on?”

                If it was possible, the Time Lord’s face reddened even darker. “The TARDIS doesn’t care!” he exclaimed, clearly mortified, and retreated back into the corridor. Cruel as it was, Clara found she took a perverse pleasure in making the Doctor blush like that.

                When she was alone in the room, the glass of the automatic doors tinted gradually to a deep grey in order to preserve her modesty. Secretly grateful to the TARDIS, she felt reassured and began to unbutton her dress. It slipped to the floor around her shoes, which she kicked off. She then shimmied out of her stockings and pulled the gown over her head. It felt soft against her skin, the loose fabric hitting just above her knees. The neckline was generous, but not immodest. Clara folded her clothes and placed them on a stool in the corner of the medical bay, finally taking a seat on the table-turned-bed in the center.

                “Doctor?” she called out.

                The glass doors gradually lightened their tint before ultimately opening to reveal the ancient Gallifreyan decked out in nurse’s scrubs and sporting a stethoscope around his long neck.

                “Told you I was qualified,” he announced. “’The clothes make the man,’ my friend Mark used to say.” His eyes took in her appearance. “Ready to start?”

                Clara nodded. She crossed her legs at the ankles in a subconscious gesture meant to make her feel less vulnerable, lowering her gaze to the floor.

                The Doctor’s feet walked into her line of sight, followed by his hand and finally his face as he gently tipped her chin up to look at him. “Hey,” he addressed her softly. “You trust me, don’t you?” Her head nodded in affirmation. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. You’re the boss, yeah?”

                “Yeah,” she replied, smiling lightly.

                “Okay then, let’s get your vital signs!” he announced, spinning ‘round to dig through the nearest supply cabinet. After a moment of searching, he turned back with a device in his hands that reminded Clara of an automated blood pressure cuff. “This is River’s med-scanner… well, I say _River’s_ … long story” he rambled, fastening the band around her upper arm. He took the attached monitor in his hands and watched the screen intently. His companion reached out with her free hand and grasped the monitor, angling it to face her. Her heartbeat danced across the screen in peaks and valleys, beating steadily in her chest as they observed together.

                “Heart rate is sixty-eight; EKG rhythm is normal,” he informed his patient, breaking the silence. “But I already knew you had a good heart, Clara.” The genuine warmth of his smile helped put her more at ease. He pressed a button on the monitor and the cuff gave her arm a brief but firm squeeze. “Your blood pressure is normal, too,” he confirmed aloud. His hands unfastened the med-scanner and replaced it on its shelf.

                Next the Doctor fished the sonic screwdriver from the chest pocket of his scrubs and waved it over her head and chest in a single swift motion, before flicking the device in the manner he always did before he announced his findings. “Thermal scan indicates thirty-seven degrees Centigrade: perfectly normal,” he reported.

                “Are you getting all this?” he called to the TARDIS. She replied with a near-inaudible rumble. “Good, good,” he mumbled. The Time Lord returned his eyes to Clara’s. “She wants me to do a respiratory test – is that all right?” he inquired.

                “And what _exactly_ would that entail?” his companion responded.

                “Lung capacity, respiratory rate, oxygen level…” he rattled off, stopping himself when he sensed Clara’s confusion. He held up a small mask attached to some tubing in one of his hands, and two straps of elastic material in the other. “These analyze your breathing. If we’re ever in a situation where we lose atmosphere, the TARDIS can supply you with air – this will tell her how much you need.” The Doctor gave her a moment to process. “It’s completely noninvasive, and painless – and I promise it won’t take long.”

                “Alright,” Clara consented. Gently the Doctor guided her legs onto the table so she could lie down. Her hair was strewn across the small pillow in all directions like a lustrous chocolate-brown waterfall. The table below her gave a low rumble, vibrating gently as the doctor raised it to a better working height.

                “I forgot to mention that bit,” he admitted. “Fully customizable with built-in height and weight sensors.” He clipped one of the elastic straps to the opposite side of the table and stretched it across her body at the peak of her rib cage, attaching the clip on the other end to hold it in place. The second sensor went across her chest above the curve of her breasts and was also clipped into place. Finally he guided the mask gently over her nose and mouth, lifting her head slightly to slide the strap over her smooth tresses.

                Air was already flowing into the mask, filling her nostrils with the cool gas as she inhaled. “Just breathe normally for a minute while she records.” He raised and lowered his hands to accentuate his point, and she breathed obediently in time to his gestures. “Very good – just like that.” He stood silently by her side, watching the sensors expand as her chest rose and fell with each breath.

                A muffled noise came from beneath the mask, which had fogged with her exhalation as she tried to speak. Her hand pulled the mask down and she tried again. “How much longer do I need to do this for?”

                His hand moved to cover hers over the displaced mask. “You need to put the mask back on to finish the test, Clara,” he chided, smiling. Gently he guided the mask back into place beneath their hands. Her hand returned to her side with the Doctor’s still in its grasp. “Another minute longer. Can you take some deep breaths now?” Clara’s torso expanded with the first deep inhale, then deflated powerfully. “That’s it, Clara,” he coached. She continued to breathe fully until the sensor on the chest straps chimed.

                “All finished,” he announced, unstrapping the mask from her head and unclipping the elastic sensors from her body. “Remarkable lung volume, healthy oxygen levels – yes, yes, that’s all fine,” he reported. “She wants a body scan next. May I scan you, Clara?”

                “Sure,” his companion agreed.

                The Doctor pulled a small, wheeled stand over from the corner of the room and attached a conical device, aiming the tip of it at Clara’s head. “You don’t have any metal in you anywhere, do you?” he inquired.

                She shook her head. “What’s that going to do to me, Doctor?”

                “It’s going to take several pictures: X-ray, CAT scan, nuclear magnetic resonance imaging-“

                “Nuclear _what_?” she interjected.

                “Nuclear magnetic resonance; it’s what you human call an MRI, nothing scary, I promise,” he reassured. “It generates a head-to-toe reconstruction of your anatomy to use as a reference, in case you become ill or injured in the future.” She nodded her assent. “You’ll need to remove your jewelry for the scan.”

                Her hands flew to one earlobe, then the next, removing her earrings. Her necklace and bracelets followed. Finally she tugged off her rings one by one, and placed them in the Doctor’s outstretched palm. “You’re an alien from the future, and you don’t have a scanner that can get past some thin metal?” she joked. “Some genius you are.”

                “Oi!” he exclaimed, pocketing her jewelry for safekeeping. “I didn’t invent this technology, you _humans_ did! Not my fault you couldn’t work around some inorganic interference.” He smirked and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Now, hold very still ‘til I come back, alright?”

                “Where are you going?” she asked, suddenly insecure.

                “Oh, I’ll just be outside, behind the protective doors. The scan uses a small dose of radiation – harmless, of course, completely harmless – but I haven’t had the best of luck with that in the past,” he exclaimed, recalling his last regeneration with an involuntary shudder he felt, but did not show. “Is that okay?” he asked concernedly.

                Clara quickly composed herself. “Yeah, fine, just outside, that’s… good,” she recovered. His hand squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before he turned and left the room.

                A moment later, he strode back in, grabbed something from a drawer that looked an awful lot like a remote control, and walked back out again. Clara couldn’t help but giggle at his typical absent-mindedness.

                “I said _still_!” The Doctor called, his fond exasperation muffled behind the closed doors. His companion calmed and lay unmoving, and the scan began. The tip of the cone gradually changed  angles, its aim working its way methodically down her body from her head, to her abdomen, down one leg and back up to her pelvis, finally following down her other leg and switching off with a satisfied beep.

                The Time Lord then re-entered the room, grabbing hold of the wheeled stand and pushing it out of the way, back into its corner. He grasped Clara’s hands and helped her back into a sitting position. “Would you like to see?” he asked.

                “I would,” she replied. He pulled a small tablet out of a nearby drawer and switched it on, laying it flat across her lap. Instantaneously, it projected a 3D hologram above the surface, showing a scale model of her bone structure, musculature, and internal organs all overlaid just as they were inside of her. Her eyes widened as she attempted to fathom its complexity.

                The Doctor’s face lit up at her curiosity. “If you want to rotate it, just swirl your finger in the air like so,” he demonstrated, spinning Clara’s hologram left and right. “And point up or down to zoom in or out.” He gestured up, and the hologram focused in closely on her lower abdomen.

                “Doctor, is that my…” she began, looking up at him quizzically.

                He blushed in reply, averting his gaze from her eyes to the image projecting from the tablet. “Well, you don’t appear to be pregnant,” he muttered.

                “Doctor!” she scolded, punching him lightly and pointing her finger hastily down to zoom out. He awkwardly snatched the tablet and put it away, declaring her innards to be perfectly fine. Clara took that to mean that they were finished, and hopped off of the table.

                “Wait another moment, please, Clara,” he requested.

                She stopped moving and looked at him, “We’re not done?” she asked.

                He shook his head. “Not yet, no.”

                “But, Doctor, you’ve got a _very_ thorough scan there – what more information could the TARDIS possibly need about me?”

                “The TARDIS has a complete medical file on you, yes, but _I_ don’t,” he replied.

                “How d’you mean?” Clara asked.

                “She won’t always be there, as much as she tries to be,” he explained. “There may come a time when I’ll have to save you without her help, without the high-tech scanners. I’d like to examine you the traditional way as well,” he finished slowly, trying to gauge her level of comfort with the proposal.

                She thought for a moment, silent as he attempted to read her expressionless face. “Fine,” she sighed. “If it will make you happy. I trust you.” She climbed back onto the table, propping herself up with her hands on either side of her knees.

                He took one of her wrists in both his hands and turned it over, settling his two longest fingers above her pulse point. The coolness of his skin momentarily startled her, but she relaxed into his touch. She watched his mouth move as he counted her heartbeats, focusing her attention on him rather than herself. She didn’t need to count along; she could feel the blood coursing through her veins, bringing warmth to her skin. And she knew he could feel the same thing.

                Struck by the intimacy of their connection, she hardly noticed when he released her wrist until it dropped back into her lap, making her jump in her seat. “Sorry! I’m sorry,” he apologized.

                “No, it’s alright, I must have spaced out a moment,” she replied, shaking her head lightly.

                “You’re sure?” he inquired, removing the stethoscope from his neck.

                “I’m fine,” she answered, putting some force behind her words to convince him. “Really.”

                He seemed to believe her, and fit the stethoscope into his ears. “May I lift the back of your gown?” he asked.

                “Okay,” she consented, bracing herself for the loss of body heat.

                The Doctor tugged the hem out from under her bottom, and held the fabric out of the way with his hand; he was careful not to touch her bare skin, lest he make her uncomfortable. With his other hand he placed the end of the stethoscope to her back, near where the strap of her bra crossed her right shoulder blade. She froze at the cold metal touch. “Deep breath, Clara,” he reminded her. He listened intently as she managed a shaky inhale. Her next attempt was steadier (“Good,” he praised her). The stethoscope moved to the other side and she breathed again for him, allowing him to observe and catalog the sounds of her lungs as he worked the stethoscope down her bare back on each side.

                Finally The Doctor allowed the gown to drop back down, and he returned to his companion’s front, his stethoscope still in his ears. He paused to look at her; they both knew what he was going to do next. His eyes searched her face for reluctance – or permission – but still he hesitated.

                Clara ultimately broke the silence. “Are you going to check my heart or not, Doctor?” she asked.

                “I am, Clara,” he verbalized, as if his own answer could give him the courage to touch the sensitive skin separating her heart from the universe outside. “It’s just that…”

                “Yes?” she asked, knowing full well his concern was for her modesty, but wanting to hear him say it all the same.

                “It’s just that… well… your heart is located in a rather intricate spot,” he managed to stammer. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or…”

                “It’s alright, Doctor, I know you’re not trying to take advantage of me – really, I don’t mind,” she replied.

                He picked up the end of the stethoscope and hovered it over her breast for a moment, uncertain. When he gathered his nerve, he settled the instrument against her skin and listened. He slid the cool metal just beneath the neckline of her gown, careful to keep his fingers out of the way so the stethoscope was the only point of contact between the two of them. He quickly lowered his gaze to the ground when he realized he was staring at her breast beneath his hand. Clara chuckled, her laughter echoing in his ears.

                “Shh!” he scolded, struggling to conceal his embarrassment with professionalism. He returned his focus to the gentle, rhythmic thumping in his ears. Her heart beat steadily on as he committed its every sound to memory. He could hear the smooth whooshing of blood through her aorta just millimeters below his fingertips.

                He picked up the stethoscope after a while and stepped back. “Would you lift your gown up in front for me, please, Clara?” he asked. This prompted a look from his companion, to which he explained, “the tricuspid and mitral valves of your heart are located… a bit farther down.”

                He fetched another cloth from a nearby drawer to cover her panties, and draped it over her lap. Clara pulled the cloth up to her waist and slowly lifted her gown up to just beneath her bra to allow the Doctor access. She made eye contact to indicate that, yes, it was alright for him to touch her (the prude old man!), and he lowered the stethoscope to her skin just beneath her breast. Again, he was very careful not to graze her body with his fingers while he auscultated her. A familiar thumping returned to his ears, but its pace had quickened. Had the Time Lord done something to unnerve her?

                “Clara?” he said, withdrawing. “Clara, are you alright?”

                “I’m fine, Doctor – keep going,” she answered him a bit quickly. He returned the stethoscope to her body and listened to the thrum of her pulse gradually slow to normal as Clara forced herself to relax.

                Taking this as an affirmative sign, he moved the instrument over to a spot below the center of her breast, where he could hear her mitral valve the loudest. Clara’s heart sped up again for a handful of beats before she was able to calm herself again; but this time, the Doctor said nothing, only listening to her pulse with curious wonder. The sound of her heart was a beautiful one, he thought.

                After a minute, he removed the stethoscope from his ears. “Memorized my heartbeat, have you?” Clara asked him. “What do _your_ hearts sound like, Doctor?” she wondered. She grasped the stethoscope in her hand. “May I?” she inquired.

                His fingers released their hold on the instrument, allowing her to put it into her ears. The Doctor untied his bow tie and the buttons of his vest and shirt, untucking it from his trousers. His hand enclosed Clara’s around the end of the stethoscope, and he pressed it to the left side of his chest. “This one first,” he instructed, “this is the one you humans have.” He studied his companion’s face as she listened carefully to the beating organ below their fingertips.

                “Can I hear the other one?” Clara asked after a moment’s silence. The Doctor nodded, and shifted their fingers to the other side of his chest. He watched as her eyes widened in awe, the excitement causing both his hearts to accelerate. Many of his previous companions had been intrigued by his hearts before, but none of them had had that sort of effect on him until Clara. He looked down at her fondly as she continued to listen, utterly fascinated. Her free hand came to rest over his chest so she could feel his first heart while she heard his second.

                She didn’t realize she was weeping until the doctor tugged the stethoscope from her ears and hugged her close to his mostly bare chest. He made soft shushing sounds in her ear and rocked her gently back and forth until she quieted.

                “Are you all right, Clara?” he queried, voice thick with concern.

                She wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks and looked up into his eyes with a new intensity he had never seen before. “You’re a _miracle_ , Doctor. There is no one else like you in the entire _universe_ and I just – how did I get so lucky?”

                The Doctor cupped her cheek in his hand and smiled. “My Clara, my impossible girl – it is I who am lucky.” He smoothed her hair over the side of her face and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “You have saved me a thousand times over. Looking after you is the very least I can do to repay you.” He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s get you out of that horrid gown and into some real clothes. You’re cleared for flight duty, Clara Oswald – now let’s go on an adventure!” He helped her off the examination table and handed her back her jewelry and clothing so she could change. She ran off down the corridor to her room, leaving the Doctor to tidy up the medical bay.

                “You just wanted to see how much she trusts me, didn’t you, you sly old girl?” he asked his TARDIS. “Wanted to see how much she cares for me. Well, did she pass your test? You know literally everything about her, now, from head to toe – so, are you going to like her?” He felt the ship’s approval and grinned. “Good, good. She’ll be chuffed to know that _Mother_ approves,” he teased.

                Clara chose that moment to return and pop her head into the doorway. “Who are you talking to, chin boy?”

                “Just the TARDIS,” he answered with a knowing expression plastered to his face. He changed the subject. “How about we go to… Barcelona! The planet Barcelona. Always a favorite of mine!” He grabbed her hand and led her, running, into the console room. “Or would you prefer America in the 1970s?”

                “Anywhere with you,” she replied, locking her eyes with his. 


End file.
